


The Dirty French Phrasebook, or: That's an oeuf, John.

by rightonmybins



Series: The Real Househusbands of Baker Street [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ass full of noodles?!, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Filthy French flirting, Fluff and Humor, Le snog magnifique, M/M, Pouty Sherlock, Snarky John, ooh la la, talk dirty to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13727835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonmybins/pseuds/rightonmybins
Summary: John annoys Sherlock with some rather filthy suggestions that Sherlock can’t quite translate.





	The Dirty French Phrasebook, or: That's an oeuf, John.

**Author's Note:**

> I once spent 3 weeks backpacking in France and picked up some dirty flirty phrases, several of which found their way in here.  
>  _Je m’excuse._  
>  And I am so, so sorry for that title pun.

John bustled around the kitchen making tea and toad-in-the-hole for breakfast. He sang while he worked, just a little tune under his breath: “Lundi, Mardi, Mer-cre-di…Jeudi, Vendredi…Samedi, Dimaaanche…”

Sherlock shuffled in, fully dressed yet looking utterly sleep-deprived. “Please, John, it’s too early in the morning for nursery rhymes.”  
“It’s not a nursery rhyme, it’s the days of the week in French. Something I learned at school when I was a wee young lad.”  
He began over again: “Lundi, Mardi, Mer-cre-diiiii…”  
Sherlock groaned. “Until now I was unaware of your linguistic talents….in that area.”  
“...Jeudi, Vendredi…”  
“Stop that.”  
“Say it in French and I will.” John served Sherlock his egg. Sherlock glared at him and stabbed it with a fork, right in the middle of the yolk.

John looked at him with sudden surprise. “You don’t speak French!” he said, astonished to discover something else he knew that the great Sherlock Holmes did not.  
“John, I am thoroughly familiar with all Germanic languages, as you should know. Romance languages, however, hold no interest for me.”  
“No Romance – that is you all over, Sherlock.”  
“That is most certainly NOT me all over,” Sherlock replied curtly.  
John laughed. “Well well. So it’s not only the solar system that’s escaped your notice.”  
Sherlock silently cut up his egg and toast, looking as though he wished John could be called away to a medical emergency. Immediately.

John was elated to be one-up on Sherlock - this was like having kryptonite with which to counteract Sherlock's vast array of mental superpowers.  
“Come on, Sherlock, the French language can be quite funny,” he said.  
“French humour – an oxymoron if ever there was one,” Sherlock snorted.  
“For instance,” John continued, ignoring him. “ ’Avoir le cul borde des nouilles’ means ‘to have the ass full of noodles’. In other words, to be very lucky.”  
“Personally, I think your arse is full of – ”  
“My favorite one is ‘avoir la patate’, or ‘to have the potato’. Meaning, to feel exceptionally good.”  
“Yes, you definitely know all about potatoes.”  
“Oh piss off. Although I do like phrases that refer to food. Like ‘tremper le bisquit’.”  
Sherlock's voice dripped with sarcasm. “Even I can guess what that means.”  
“Well, not ‘biscuit’ literally… ‘dipping the biscuit’ means…”  
“I SAID, even I can guess what that means.”

Of course John knew all the dirty French stuff – those are the first things any schoolboy learns, and John had made good use of this knowledge in his younger days (well, he’d gotten a few face slaps too, but on average his technique had seemed to work well in pubs and at Uni parties). He could not wait to try it on with Sherlock.  
He handed Sherlock his tea and said pleasantly, “Je voudrais vous voir à poil!” [ _I’d sure like to see you naked!_ ]  
“Thank you,” Sherlock responded crossly, which made John giggle. “Why don’t you save your breath and write that one down.”  
“And allow you to run it through Google Translate? Nope. You’ll just have to enjoy it in audio mode.”

He passed Sherlock the marmalade and said, “Fait-il chaud ici, ou c'est juste vous?” [ _Is it hot in here, or is it just you?_ ]  
Sherlock gave John a malicious side-eye. “Aren’t you getting tired of your pointless little game?”  
John leaned over and purred in his ear: “J’ai envie de t’embrasser.” [ _I’d like to kiss you._ ]  
Sherlock didn't even bother to reply.

During the rest of the day, John took exceptional glee in sneaking up on Sherlock and whispering some filthy little phrase in his ear, then enjoying his slow burn of annoyance. Oh, that pouty face! John felt he was finally putting paid to all those times when Sherlock had flaunted his fund of esoteric knowledge. Sodding showoff.

John sidled up to Sherlock at the microscope:  
“Je veux te lécher des hanches jusqu’aux pieds.” [ _I want to lick you from your hips to your toes._ ]  
“Go away.”

Then John ambushed him as Sherlock changed his shirt:  
“Donne-moi une fessée s’il te plait. Je suis un garçon villain!” [ _Please spank me! I’m a naughty boy!_ ]  
“Get. Out.”

While Sherlock was napping on the sofa, John leaned over him and whispered:  
“Je bande pour toi.” [ _I’m hard for you._ ]  
Which earned him a well-aimed cushion to the head.

Sherlock finally put on headphones to block out any more of John’s French language ninja attacks.  
Not to be deterred, John left him a voicemail: “Ta voix sexy me fait bander comme un porc.” [ _Your sexy voice gives me a hard-on._ ]  
“Until further notice, John, I am ignoring ALL of your voicemails, particularly those with heavy breathing,” Sherlock announced with real irritation.  
John just gave him a wink and a smug smile. “Well, I think you’re missing out, but that’s your loss, mon amour.”

Sherlock then refused to speak to him until tea time, when John reached across the table and put a dab of jam on his nose. “Tu seras mon dessert ce soir.” [ _You’ll be my dessert tonight._ ]  
With that, Sherlock's exasperation level forced him to request a cease-fire.  
“All right - that's enough, John. Now please stop.”  
But John could not resist. It was so seldom that he had the advantage on Sherlock, he was loath to give it up.  
“N’inporte quoi,” John said with an expressive shrug. “Tourne la page.” [ _Whatever. Get over it._ ]

Sherlock got over it by spending the night on the sofa.

***  
The following morning John appeared in the sitting room wearing only his underpants, and merrily proclaimed: “Il y a une féte dans mon slip et je t'y invite!” [ _There’s a party in my pants and you’re invited!_ ]  
“I’ll wager I can guess what that one’s about…but you’re still not getting any,” Sherlock said sullenly, and flopped over on the sofa again.

Which of course only made the stubborn Army captain more determined to make Sherlock admit he’d been bested at something.  
Which of course only made the stubborn detective more determined to not admit he’d been bested at something, particularly by John Smart-Arse Watson.

Sherlock boycotted the breakfast table; John went next door to the deli for an egg and bacon butty and chips.  
After which they silently set up separate work stations - Sherlock at the sitting room table with his laptop, wearing his headphones; John camped in the kitchen with his own laptop and a supply of chocolate Hob-Nobs.  
The only sounds in the flat during that that very long, quiet and resentful day were the clicking of keyboards, the ticking of a clock, the occasional hiss of the kettle.

Dusk had darkened the windows of the flat when John’s mobile dinged with a text message:  
JE SUIS FOU DE TOI [ _I’m crazy about you_ ]

Ding:  
JE NE PEUX PAS VIVRE SANS TOI [ _I cannot live without you_ ]

Ding:  
TU ES L’HOMME DE MES RÊVES [ _You are the man of my dreams_ ]

Ding:  
JE VEUX PASSER MA VIE AVEC TOI [ _I want to spend my life with you_ ]

John looked up to find Sherlock standing in the kitchen doorway, headphones hanging around his neck and a tiny smile lurking about his mouth. Sherlock approached him and leaned down, saying: “T’as une miette”. [ _You’ve got a crumb._ ]  
He pretended to stroke something off John’s mouth, first with his thumb, then with his lips.  
“Truce?”  
“Truce.”

Negotiations were conducted in the neutral zone of the sofa, where Sherlock conceded that there might possibly be some deficiencies in his knowledge base, while John admitted that he may have been a bit of a twat in reminding Sherlock that he wasn’t perfect.

“So that’s what you were doing all day,” John said. “All right, I'm impressed.”  
“John, I grant that you do indeed have knowledge of something with which I am largely unfamiliar, and I will cede that bit of linguistic territory to you. And if we ever go on holiday in the Dordogne your skills may be somewhat useful.”  
Sherlock regarded John with an ardent glint in his eye. “But meanwhile…talk dirty to me again.”  
John growled, “Mon aéroglisseur est plein d'anguilles” with such a sexy accent that Sherlock nearly exploded with lust.

Later. Much, much later…  
John’s voice was sleepy with satisfaction: “Who knew THAT one was going to come in handy…”

**Author's Note:**

> "Mon aéroglisseur est plein d'anguilles" (“My hovercraft is full of eels”) is from The Dirty Hungarian Phrasebook sketch in “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”. Who knew Sherlock and John were Python fans.
> 
> If you have not heard Martin Freeman adorably singing the days of the week in French, it’s on YouTube.
> 
> Egg and bacon butty and chips: Fried egg sandwich with back bacon, and potato fries - a delicious English delicacy which is just terrible for you.  
> Chocolate Hob-Nobs – best biscuits on earth, a tea-time favorite.


End file.
